


Not an Apology

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Episode: s01e06, M/M, Missing Scene, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6141955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snart rarely, if ever, did the apology thing. He wasn't apologizing right now either. (S01E06 Star City 2046)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not an Apology

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Flarrowverse (Raelinski) @ AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Raelinski) for the speedy beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine, and due to my stubbornness.

He hadn’t answered the door when Rip had knocked. Nor for Palmer the first time, and he had suggested to _Fuck off_ the second one.

Snart didn’t knock on doors and let himself in whenever he felt like it, so of course it wasn’t exactly the same issue. But it didn’t mean that Mick couldn’t give him the silent treatment all the same, right? He wasn’t too keen to talk to his partner or listen to whatever he had to say. Ex-partner. His head still hurt from being hit by the butt of the cold gun. It was part physical response, part anger and frustration. So not a word, not a movement. He was lying on the bunk in his quarters, hands crossed under his head and eyes half closed, and he didn’t bother reacting when Snart stepped in.

The door slid shut behind Snart, who stood in the entrance of the small cabin for a couple of seconds. He was watching him. Mick was familiar with the cold burn of those eyes; how they felt when they looked into his, skipped over him, searched for him, when they conveyed an apology — a rare occurrence because Snart was rarely, if ever, doing the apology thing.

He wasn’t apologizing right now either.

He sat next to him on the edge of the bunk and laid his hand on Mick’s belt buckle.

Mick glanced at the long fingers fiddling with the leather and the metal. They were as deft as ever, unfastening his pants with careless ease, the heel of the hand pressing just light enough and just hard enough against the zipper.

Asshole. He knew what kind of effect he had on him. If Mick wanted to stop this, it had to be _now_ because in five seconds, he’d be screwed in both senses of the word.

He picked up the heat gun from the floor by his cot and pointed it at Snart’s face.

“I told you. You lay a hand on me again, you burn.”

Snart considered his options. Mick wouldn’t fire the heat gun inside of the Waverider, but he could still do some nasty damages. Damages that Snart eventually decided to ignore or estimated were worth taking the chance. He shifted and climbed onto the narrow bed to straddle Mick’s legs. He moved quickly and gracefully despite the cramped space, and Mick blinked in surprise at how fast he’d found himself pinned down.

“What’re you doing?” he grounded out.

“Using my mouth, since I can’t lay my hands on you.” He jerked his chin at the half undone pants. “Care to help me with that?”

Let it be noted that Mick hesitated _at least_ five seconds before pushing his pants and underwear down. But you know... blowjob. You don’t turn down a blowjob just because you’re angry. He was still mad like hell at Snart and one hundred percent done with his bullshit, but that was his brain talking. His cock hadn’t received the memo yet and sure could wait for another ten minutes before getting it.

“Asshole,” he spat, this time voicing it out loud.

“Nothing new here, buddy.”

Complying with the no-hands policy, he dug his clenched fists into the thin mattress on each side of Mick’s hips. Mick had no other choice than to guide himself between those damn lips if he wanted this to go somewhere. Snart adjusted his position, the angle of his head, and tentatively opened up for the pole of flesh shoved into his face. Now, that was something new, something interesting, watching him shuffle and jerk with each of Mick’s erratic jolts and thrusts. At least, it would keep his too-smart mouth from running...

“It’s pity you won’t let me use my hands. You know how good I am with them.”

... or maybe not.

He licked and sucked and drove Mick to the edge; once, twice, each time pulling him back at the last second. Mick cursed him and saw the satisfaction in his eyes, felt it in the way his tongue was working him. He was taking all his fucking time, gorging on Mick’s cock, small grunts and demanding rolls of hips. The smugness of his usual smirk had been transferred to the squint of his eyes. Even now, even in this position, he was calling the shots, playing Mick like he did in so many other areas. It pissed Mick off. It pissed him off even more that it made him feel hotter — warmer — than he’d been in a while.

There was no third time. Or, actually, the third time, Snart hollowed out his cheeks, pressed his lips hard around him, and hummed approvingly. Before he knew it, Mick was coming, his hand heavy on the nape of the other man’s neck in an assertive gesture he usually didn’t allow himself. He let it rest there for a few seconds, until the possessive hold mellowed and morphed into a quick caress on the side of Snart’s neck.

“It wasn’t an apology,” Snart said, touching his neck where the thick fingers just fondled him.

“I know.” He pulled him up, craned his neck for a kiss before remembering that he was done with him and his tricks; hence, no kissing. He settled for biting his ear. “Come on.”

He cupped Snart’s ass with both hands and forced him to crawl over his chest and shoulders, lean yet strong thighs encasing his face. He wasn’t doing this to be nice, let’s be clear about that. He was doing it because he liked the weight and sensation of Snart filling his mouth. Tonight more than ever, he craved for his hitched breath and tense muscles when he would be close, for the brief seconds he’d loosen up and lower his walls after he’d came. He craved for a surrender of some kind, and it seemed that he would have to be content with this one.

He was interrupted in his train of thoughts and actions by a knock on the door, and Kendra’s voice asking, “Guys? You in there?”

“Timing!” Snart seethed between his teeth. He was bracing himself over Mick’s head, half-sitting on his chest, his hands flat against the steel wall for support, _this_ close to coming.

“Guys? Everything okay? Rip is waiting for you. We need to leave now.”

With a awesomely dirty drag of tongue, Mick pulled back just long enough to say, “Coming in a sec’, Birdie!”

He too could make bad puns, after all.

And to his satisfaction, it took barely more than that. He might be the muscle and Snart might be the brains — but looked like the muscle knew how to get to the brains alright. Snart came with his back bowing in an impossible way, a low grunt breaking out of his throat, and his fingers scratching at the wall.

It also took barely a few more seconds for Mick to gently but firmly push Snart off him.

“It ain’t change anything,” he said.

“It wasn’t the goal.”

Snart rolled up and onto his feet and proceeded to straighten up his clothes. Mick eyed him. He didn’t buy his last reply. It had been the goal. He missed it, but it had been the goal. Mick wasn’t as dense as people thought he was, or as he pretended to be, and he knew how Snart worked: show Mick that he mattered and that Snart cared for him and took care of him, and Mick would eventually comply to whatever Snart had decided.

Except, not this time. It wouldn’t work this time. It wasn’t only about missing this place and time; first and foremost, it was about Snart betraying him.

“You couldn’t have stayed here,” the man was telling him in a soft voice, almost the tone he’d use to talk to a kid or tame a wild animal. “You heard Rip, this timeline isn’t meant to be, Mick. What will happen when everything collapses?”

Mick watched him with empty eyes. His anger had, at least temporarily, worn off but the sadness and the disappointment were still very much here. Maybe Snart was right, maybe not. That wasn’t the point. For a few hours, he’d felt at home. Familiar surroundings, oddly comforting, even though they looked like the end of the world for Snart and the other members of a team he wasn’t sure he could be a part of.

“Yeah. Thing is, it wasn’t your call to make. Now, let’s go before Rip sends someone else to drag us to the bridge.”

\- - - - -

**Author's Note:**

> Struggling with these two way more than I anticipated I would *grumbles*


End file.
